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A Hunch of Wild Flobvers 



by 



Mabel "Broken Denison 



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COPYRIGHTED 

1908 



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A Hunch of 



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This is only a bunch of wild flowers that grew in a quiet spot 
That the crowd passed by unnoticed and the multitude heeded not. 
But some have paused where the blossoms their modest perfumes shed 
And have gathered a leaf or a flower as it grew in its lowly bed 
What if it were only a wild flower, if round it the perfume clings. 
Of a memory fraught with sweetness, a memory that solace brings. 



What if it were only a wildflower, if it brought to some throbbing heart 

One breath of the balm of summer or made the glad tears start? 

God grant it fulfilled its mission, the mission for which it grew 

Out in the shade and sunshine, under the sun and dew. 

For some were plucked from the shadows where the dews lay damp and 

still, 
And some where the glorious sunshine flooded the sloping hill. 



So I've gathered this bunch of wildflowers that grew in the shine and shade, 

And out of the modest blossoms have a little garland made. 

Look not in their midst for beauties or fragrance rich acd rare, 

For your search would be unrewarded — such richness abides not there 

But if 'tis life's humbler blossoms whose perfume your heart nolds dear, 

And you love the simpler beauties— 'tis my wish may you find them here. 




>t^ 




Grandma's Coming 



Say, kids, my grandma's coming, and you bet 

I'm mighty glad, 
'Cause then we have such jolly times — the best 

one to be had. 
Pa lets me do a lot of things he don't when she 

aint here ; 
And only laughs a little as if he didn't care. 
Don't see what makes the difference, unless it 

is that he 
Keeps recollectin' things he did when he was 

small like me, 
And he don't dast to scold me when grandma 

omes you know 
Because she aint forgot the things he did so 

long ago. 

Once grandma told how pa one day hold 

teacher he was sick 
And got excused from school and went a-fishin' 

in the crick 
1 thought my pa'd remember how one day I 

did the same 
And got my little jacket tanned tho' I wasn't a 

bit to blame, 
'Cause 'twas just the day for fish to bite — but 

it struck me awful queer 
Pa was so busy eating that he didn't seem to 

hear. 
I'm sorry that he didn't 'cause 'twould be a 

sort of joy 
If he knew I knew he did the same when he 

was a little boy. 



I don't see how he can forget just how things 

used to be. 
I'm awful glad my grandma don't; it means a 

lot to me. 
'Cause when I leave the back bars down or 

forget the kindling wood 
She smiles and says, "Just like his pa," as any 

grandma should 
And pa, he never says a word— but then, altho' 

it's mighty queer — 
He always is so busy he never seems to hear, 
Or else he smiles a little, So when grandma 

comes, you see, 
We all of us have jolly times, but most espec- 
ially we. 



Jtiftfor Today 



Teach me, oh Lord, Thy will, 

Just for today. 
Teach me, this little hour, 

To walk Thy way, 
Not in my strength, but in Thine own, I pray, 
Teach me to do Thy will, just for today. 

Let me not shun the path 

Thou hast chose for me, 

Tho' it must pass thro' dark 
Gethsemane, 

For today's journey Thou my guidance be, 

And let Thy wondrous grace suffice for me. 

Let me Thy presence feel 

This little hour, 
Sustain my fainting heart 

By Thy great power, 
Safe in Thy care, tho' mighty tempests lower, 
No more their wrath I'll fear than summer 
shower. 



So guide me, blessed Lord, 

Just for today, 
Lead Thou my faltering feet 

Thine own way. 
So leave me not alone in all the way 
Until my soul has reached eternal day, 



>^ 



A Mother 9 ** Treasure* 



Upstairs in a chest safely folded away 

From the light of the day is my treasure. 
Little garments that loving hands fashioned 
with care 
And toiled o'er their making with pleasure. 
There are fair, dainty garments my baby boy 
wore — 
His little coats, bonnets and dresses, 
Each one has been dewed with a fond mother's 
tears, 
And folded with silent caiesses. 
I treasure each one as a miser his gold, 

For each with sweet memories is laden, 
But dearer to me than all of the rest 

Are the little worn clothes that he played 
in. 



IS he Coming of JacKJFroft 



Jack Frost met Miss Autumn one bright crispy 

morn , 
And she asked him if he would the forest 

adorn ; 
So seizing his paints to the forest he sped 
And painted the forest leaves yellow and red. 
But Jack is a mischief tbo' seemingly meek, 
For he pinched every apple on its red cheek. 
He whispered strange words in the ears of the 

corn 
When he told them the farmer would shock 

them next morn. 

Then he said to the pumpkin, "I'll do you no 

harm 
For the boys with their candles will keep you 

quite warm, 
j only will add, when they do, don't make 

faces, 
'Twill surely not add to your well-rounded 

graces." 
A potato peeped out thro' its half-opened eye, 
And a shudder ran thro' it when it saw who 

passed by. 
While out in the garden where grew things to 

eat, 
One softly exclaimed, "There's Jack Frost! 

Well I'm beet!" 

Jack laughed as he looked o'er his pranks of 
the night, 

Forgetting they'd show in the clear morning 
light. 

But the apple's red cheeks and the corn's ting- 
ling ear 

Told a tale that to all passers by was most 
clear. 

The beet looked half dead, and with a cool air 

The pumpkin returned the potatoes' cold stare. 

And so, tho' he fled at the first ray of light, 

All the children cried out, "Jack Frost came 
last night." 



)* S j s $£3*= s 5^/^F==SQ^-^C 



& 



Today's 'Battle 



If your country called for a sword, a banner 

and battlefield, 
('ailed for a strong right arm her honor and 

truth to shield, 
Your hand would be quickly raised, and 

straight at the threatening foe 
In the sight of the world would its strength 

be hurled, 
Dealing the conquering blow. 



Your country calls for a sword and gives you 

a battlefield, 
Galls for a strong right arm her honor and 

truth to shield, 
Will that hand with the ballot be raised, and 

straight at the threatening foe 
In the sight of the world its strength be hurled 
Dealing the conquering blow? 



Will you press where the fight is thick and 
close with the ranks of wrong, 

Fighting the battle of right with a courage 
firm and strong? 

Will you against all odds to the temperance 
cause be true. 

And never yield to the wrong the field? 

The victory depends on yon. 



$ 



Spring * Harbinger* 



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We grow weary of the winter with its weight of sleet 

and snow, 
And the winds that whistling wander swiftly to and fro ; 
When the night with frosty fingers paints the panes with 

pictures bold 
Till they glisten in the moonlight with a beauty keen and 

cold, 
We with joy received the message — 'tis like sunshine 

after rain — 
Spring's first harbingers have reached us, for the birds 

have come again. 



V 



Now we know the tinkle, tinkle, of the sleigh-bells' song 
is o'er, 

And we hear the swish of waters as they splash against 
the shore 

And we listen, listen, listen for the first foot-falls of 
Spring 

As she steals from sunny Southlands where the birds for- 
ever sing. 

For we know she's coming, coming. She has made the 
message plain, 

And her harbingers have reached us, for the birds have 
come again. 



Winter gathers up the fetters he had bound about the 

streams, 
Sends them dancing, dancing onward, babbling of their 

winter dreams. 
Softly, silently the snowbanks seem to weep and slip away 
And they bid goodby to winter starting on his northward 

way. 
And we know that Spring is coming, she has made her 

message plain, 
And the harbingers have reached us, for the birds have 

come again. 



Mr Vfc 

m 4&& 



'Which U 'Ri^ht? 




We find two kinds of people as we're traveling 

along, 
And we have often wondered which is right 

and which is wrong, 
They both look up to sunny sky. One says, 

"How bright and fair!" 
The other says, "We'll pay for this. I feel it 

in the air." 
And when the day is stormy one only sees the 

cloud. 
The other sees the rainbow and the promises 

of God. 

While one man wails with mighty wail that a 

thorn each rose adorns. 
Another man thanks God for putting roses on 

the thorns. 
And while the one's complaining that the hill 

is hard to climb, 
The other is rejoicing in the scenery sublime. 
The one man says, "It's just my luck, I'll just 

sit down and wait." 
The other says, with strong arms bared. "I'm 

master of my fate !" 

And when the breeze blows stiff and free, one 
says, "I'll stay on shore." 

The other lets it fill his sails and speeds the 
breeze before. 

And while the mat is dozing and complaining 
by the fire, 

The breeze has sped the other to the land of 
his desire. 

The first man rubs his hands and says, "Fate's 
always hard on me." 

The other says, "Fate gives us all such oppor- 
tunity!" 



So one glad heart goes on in joy triumphant 

over wrong, 
Facing the things that meet him with courage 

firm and stron?. 
The other never sees the stars nor flowers that 

blooming wait, 
Nor dares to breast the seething tide as master 

of his fate . 
Perhaps you've met these people as you're 

traveling along, 
And would you kindly tell us which is right 

and which is wrong? 



The Miner's "Religion 



^> 



No, I'm not so very religious and 1 know you think me rough, 
I'll admit some the fellers we worked with in the mine were 

mighty nigh tough. 
But I tell you I've got religion and a kind that will bear me 

thro,' 
Straight to the gates of Heaven, with my Jeanie so good and 

true. 
Just be still while I telJ mv story and then you will surely 

see 
That I couldn't backslide noways after what it has done for 

me. 



'Twas the night of that awful cave-in, when we thought each 

hour the last, 
And the thing that seemed clearest to me was my sinful 

reckless past. 
We didn't dare hope for rescue, but all that dread night 

thro' 
I knew that my Jeanie was praying, and then— well I prayed 

too. 
And there in that awful darkness, as I knelt face to face 

with death, 
1 promised if God would save me to serve Him to my latest 

breath. 

Two days they tell us passed over— to us an eternity — 
But I knew that up in the sunlight my Jeanie a.till prayed 

for me. 
And when at last we were carried out of that living tomb, 
My soul, too, passed to the sunlight out of its night of gloom. 
And the first thing I remember when I reached the light and 

air, 
I heard my Jeanie saying, "Thank God! He has answered 

prayer." 



So you see why I 'blieve in religion, and what it did for me, 
And if I should backslide now, boys, 'twould be sneakin' as 

it could be. 
But just let me say to you fellers, that the time will surely 

come 
To each of yon when the soul will cry for help tho' the lips 

are dumb. 
And the greatest help earth can give you ere the light from 

above breaks thro,' 
Is to know some true woman is kneeling in prayer to her God 

for you. 



Mr Tfc 



s? 



Vlaying With 'Baby 



No, husband, the sapper's not ready. 

The house looks untidy I see, 
But I have been playing with baby, 

He's been teaching-life's lessons to me. 
I've been learning why Jesus the Savior 

Said we must become as a child 
Ere we entered the kingdom of Heaven 

To dwell with the host undefiled. 

Our hearts must have faith in the Father, 

That all gifts are blest from his hand, 
And knowing his love for his children 

We must trust where we can't understand. 
We must catch every sunbeam that glances 

And dances a-down thro' the shade ; 
And feel if the Father is near us 

When night comes we are not afraid. 

And I know now that all earthly wisdom 

And wealth are but counted as dross, 
That the sweet simple life of the children 

We must learn at the foot of the cross. 
That greater than all of earth's treasures 

We are giving our life-work to win 
Are the glory of gladness without us 

And the soul's spotless beauty within. 

That the peace passing all understanding 

Is one of God's gifts from above. 
And that wnat our frail lives are most needing 

Is the care of his infinite love. 
No, husband, the supper's not ready, 

The house looks untidy I see, 
But I have been playing with baby, 

He's been teaching life's lessons to me. 




The Mothers 9 Corner 




If we are rewarded in Heaven for what we 

have done on earth 
If blessings are given according to what our 

frail lives were worth, 
I know who will sit in the corner where are 

found the easiest chairs 
Where the zephyrs are wafted sweetest from 

Heaven's balmiest airs. 
Where the cushions rival in softness the down 

of the angel's wing 
And the music sounds the sweetest when the 

heavenly seraphs sing. 

There we will find the mothers. So long they 

toiled and strove, 
And their lives to the world have proven the 

depth of a holy love. 
So often their feet grew weary, so often they 

longed for rest, 
But they still toiled onward, onward, that 

their dear ones might be blessed. 
And those for whom they were toiling knew 

not bow much had been given 
Till the Master called them to him to the 

"Mothers' Corner" of Heaven. 

There the Master himself shall reward them 

and the children as they come 
Shall give to the mothers the praises they 

forgot in their earthly home. 
And the praise to the mothers shall mingle 

with the praises around God's throne 
"Unto those who are worthy" when we "know 

as we are known." 
And for me Heaven's greatest blessing next to 

seeing God's glory there 
Would be to be worthy a corner close to my 

mother's chair. 



<* 



When I'm Gro&tn 

Up Lt'Ke Ta. 




Photo by Denison 



Heard pa and ma a-talkin' about me the other 

day 
I tell you I was just surprised at what they had 

to say. 
Pa said that when I was growed up a farmer 1 

must be, 
And ma, she said a preacher was the thing to 

make of me. 
But I'll just have to show them 1 won't be 

neither one— 
I'm going to join the circus where I can have 

some fun. 



Or maybe I will go out West among the cow- 
boys there 

And ride a kicking bronco that no one else 
would dare. 

Or be a railroad engineer and run the fast ex- 
press ; 

I think I'd like that best of all— that's what 
I'll be, I guess. 

There's lots of things I'd ruther be when I'm 
grown up like pa 

Than a farmer or a preacher — I'll just show pa 
and ma. 



Nor a preacher! Beg their pardon — They're all right but let me say 

I don't care to run a business where there isn't better pay. 

Now, my pa he gives a nickel or a penny, then he'll say, 

"That man preaches such poor sermons for a man that gets good pay." 

But how I could give more value for a penny puzzles me, 

So I'll have to be a cowboy or an engineer you see. 

A farmer's work's so dirty — hands and clothes are always black — 

But an engineer's work's jolly; just to speed along the track, 

Pull the levers back and such like — just as easy as can be. 

Such things come like second nature if one wants to learn, like me. 

But to be a common farmer is a thing not in my line, 

While an engineer or cowboy would just fit and suit me line. 



^^j^^^^^^^^!^ s ^^^^Ss>^^^F S: ^^^>'^^^e^^^> t 



Labor and Success. 





There's success for yon, my brother, in this 

busy world today, 
If you step by step are climbing up the steep 

and rocky way, 
Keeping faith in those about you and a child 

like trust in God, 
Pressing onward, upward ever, by the patb 

the just have trod 
'Till you reach the sacred portals where 

Success has her abode. 



Labor! Toil thro' rosy morning, thro' the noon- 
day's burning heat, 

'Till the stars above you shining bid you rest 
your weary feet, 

And the morn will find you stronger for the 
work of yesterday, 

Hands more skillful, heart more willing, feet 
set firmer in the way. 

He who would succeed tomorrow must have 
done his best today. 



Labor! See, Success stands ready with the 

laurels in her hands 
If by earnest upward striving you can reach 

the height she stands. 
Work with all the strength God gives you, be 

up doing while 'tis day, 
And the stone for you too heavy angel hands 

will roll away 
'Till at last you stand success-crowned in the 

light of perfect day. 




iSSsatfl^a&^^^SQ^* 




The Halcyon 



Within the center of the cyclone's whirl, 'tis 

said 

That there is found a point of perfect calm 

So still a tiny bird might rest therein 

In safety, knowing there no fear of harm, 

Nor feel the tempest rage about 

Shutting it in from all without. 



If this be true, may we not look for rest 
Within the eddying whirl of busy strife? 
May not the soul find peace and calm within 
The storms that circle around our daily life? 
May not our hearts as peaceful be 
As the calmed Sea of Galilee? 



Yea, for each soul amid life's crowded throng 
There is a place of perfect restful peace, 
A place where hearts grow very calm and still' 
And all their weary longing throbbings cease. 
While seeking of life's gifts the best, 
Soul, hast thou sought and found thy rest? 




The Inner Life. 



^3 



How oft do we in our blindness fail. 

To see through the outward life 
The aching heart and the weary brain, 

The fierce and unequal strife. 
For, oh, there is many a crowned head 

That lays down each night in fear, 
And many a sparkling eye whose light 

Is tbe gleam of an unshed tear. 

There is many a heart its anguish bears, 

While the lips wear a suuny smile. 
There is many a ship on the ocean wide 

That has drifted for many a mile. 
And the light we deem as their guiding star 

To be followed with never a fear, 
They often know is the warning light 

To show them the reefs are near. 

And he who goes calmly forth to meet 

Whatever may come his way, 
Perhaps in his closet at midnight prayed 

For the strength to bear today. 
Could we but see, with a vision clear 

All the battles fought and won, 
We would clasp the hand of that brother close, 

And give him a glad, "Well done." 

We would whisper such words of hope and cheer 

As would gladden his heart today, 
And he would go in the strength of them 

Kejoicing upon his way. 
We would let the light of our love shine forth 

O'er the path where our brother trod, 
For the battles fought and victories won 

None know but ourselves and God. 



^ 






mP 



My To,, He KJiobv* 



°% 



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I read about George Washington •who never told a lie, 
And then I went and asked my pa if he knew the reason 

why. 
He said he surely didn't, but he guessed it wasn't so, 
That 'twas easy now to tell such things for he lived so 

long ago- 
Said it didn't stand to reason, as anybody'd know — 
And my pa, he knows. 

You see my pa remembers when he was small like me, 
Or just about the age of George when he cut the cherry- 
tree. 
And sometimes I have noticed my grandma looking wise 
At pa, when he was going on 'bout kids a-telling lies, 
Till hejd begin to eat so fast and never lift his eyes— 
So pa, I guess he knows. 

Now, ma, she kind'o b'lieves the thing that maybe it was 

so. 
But ma, she's never been a boy and aint supposed to know 
Besides she says that little girls don't lie and do such 

things. 
I kind o' guess they're sort of little angels without wings. 
Least wise, I'm sure my mamma was, she's so sweet-like 

when she sings — 
But pa, he knows. 

Then when a feller's caught like George, that aint no time 

tblie. 
It aint a-going to help him none, so what's the use to try? 
So cause he told the truth that time that he cut the 

cherry tree, 
Don't prove he always told the truth — at least it don't to 

me, 
And 1 kind o' guess it don't to pa— of course, we two 

agree — 
And mj pa, he knows. 



& 



M 






A 



oyhood'*s Troubles 






fi 







Some fellers has wrote such a great lot of stuff about 

how that they wish they was boys, 
For they're certain that nobody else upon earth has 

so many pleasures and joys. 
They write about bein' a bare-footed boy like there's 

nothing that to it compares, 
But say! That aint nothing to what it must be to 

have such boots as Roosevelt wears. 
And I guees they forget there were thistles and 

thorns, and then, to make misery complete, 
No matter how cired you may be when night comes, 

Mother says, "Now, John, wash your feet." 
I guess they forget all that part or they'd not wish to 

coma back to troubles like these, 
For when you're grown up and your very own boss, 

you can wash them or not, as you please. 

Ihen they write of the crick and the "ol' swimmin'- 
hole" and of how that they wish they was boys 

But I guess they forget that in boyhood there's some- 
thing besides just pleasures and joys. 

They don't mention the fact that no matter how clean 
you may get by a swim in the crick, 

That into the bath tub you go justthe.same no matter 
how hard you may kick. 

For your mother is sure you forgot in the crick to 
scrub both your neck and your ears. 

And I've learned that no matter how clean they may 
be 'taint no use to try whining and tears. 

Yhit you bet when I'm grown to a man I won't ' 'wish 
that I was a boy," and such stuff. 

Just the fact that I don't have to wash neck and ears 
will make me contented enough. 



There's a whole lot more things that I can't mention 

now that strikes me most mightily strange, 
And I can't help but wonder when folks is well off 

that they still keep a-wantin' a change, 
Now if I was a man I'd not keep looking back and 

sighing for that thing and this, 
For the things that I've mentioned you don't have to 

do, would offset quite a lot that you'd miss. 
And the things like the crick and the "ol' swimmin-' 

hole" can never be pleasure complete 
For you'll have to wash neck and ears over again, and 

at nights 'twill be, "John, wash your feet." 
So when you're growed up and escape all these things 

I don't see no cause for complaint, 
Unless it's because it is nature to want to be the 

thing that you ain't. 



S W 



Otir Life Aim. 



Girls, set your life-aim high, and then bend all 
Your energies to reach the mark you've set. 
Be a true woman. You can never aim 
At any higher mark than womanhood 
Pure, noble, holy, such as blesses all 
Mankind, and reaches thro' the universe 
Its helping hand of sympathy and love. 

Where sorrow fail and round the saddened heart 
Grief draws the curtains and shuts out the light, 
Be yours the hand to upward point and show 
God's light still shining. If beside your path 
Another walks with heavy burdens bowed, 
Your life will stronger be for sharing it 
Believe that every hour is given of God 
To fill with noble deeds, nor fret because 
They seem so small. God only gives the great 
To him who does the little faithfully 
The crown is given to him who bears the cross, 
The victory to him that overcomes 



Keep your heart true and other lives from yours 
Shall catch the spark of truth and brighter burn 
For none can know how far his light may reach, 
Or how deep darkness it may penetrate 
Our part alone to keep it burning bright 
God keeps the rest. So if you but be true 
To your own self and God, your life shall be 
A life whose touch a benediction is 
Be this vour aim 



<*S 






Hobv Much Are you Worth 



Bow much are yon worth? Not in houses, 

Nor lands, nor in silver and gold, 
But tli i real treasuros of value 

How much of a share do you hold? 
Have you hid in your treasury's safety 

A faith in the Master above, 
A faith in humanity 'round you, 

And a portion of brotherly love. 



When a comrade meets trouble and losses 

Can you draw on your sympathy's store, 
And lend some good cheer as you're passing 

Till the stress of the hour has passed o'er? 
Can you meet every draft on your patience 

With a smile that is honest and true, 
And pay back every wrong of your neighbor 

With forgiveness when it comes due? 



Do men know that when honor is sinking 

And truth has gone down below par, 
That you'll stand firm and sure in the crisis 

Like a battle-scarred veteran of war? 
Have you proved to the world that when Justice 

Seems to totter upon her white throne, 
Yon have still love of right in your treasure 

To backup her cause tho' alone? 




Then if all seems to crash in the crisis, 

If wrong seems the equal of right, 
Have you faith that looks forth to the future 

To the hour when ail things will be right? 
How much are you worth, may I ask yon? 

Just figure it out if you can. 
Not in houses and lands, gold and silver, 

But, what are you worth as a man? 



<^ 



Heiri It Wa*r Leap year. 



Yes, bein' it was Leap Year we was married,^ Jane an' me, 
An' much more happier couple you will travel far to see. 
You see I'd been a-courtin' Jane for 'bout three years or so, 
But I always thought in courtin' was a place you'd best go slow. 
If you don't think before you choose for better or for worse 
You might do your thinkin' afterward and end in a divorce. 
Now I don't believe in such-like performances as those, 
I'd rather be a little slow an' think before I chose. 



You see it happened this way, bein' Leap Year, as you know, 

The girls got up a sleighride soon's there come a right good snow. 

The girls all asked their partners, so Jane asked me to go, 

A-being' I'd been courtin' her for 'bout three years or so. 

Was mighty tickled that she did, 'cause then I knowed for sure 

She liked me better than the rest, which I didn't know before. 

'Cause as I said, in courtin' is a place you'd best go slow, 

For when you're married its for life — too late to change you know. 



The night was crisp and starry with a tingle in the air, 

Jane drove the team— her father's— he had a dandy pair. 

I noticed that she wore the scarf she knew I liked the best, 

An' she looked so bright an' pretty that she clear eclipsed the rest. 

An' then the idee struck me, that she'd done it all for me, 

An' say! it took me off my feet to think of that idee. 

I'm glad that I found out so soon she liked me, for you know 

I'd only been a-courtin' Jane for 'bout three years or so. 



Then two or^three more things happened— like when Jane's hands got cold, 
She'd drive the team with one hand, an' give me one hand to hold. 
An' somehow— I don't know just how — we settled it that night 
To the music of the sleigh-bells, an' the twinglin' starry light. 
An' so we two was married in the spring time, Jane an' me, 
An' a much more happier couple you would travel miles to see. 
Don't think that Jane proposed to me— not much! No lady would, 
But bein' it was Leap Year, I— er— sort of understood. 



* If All the World Were Just * 

Like Me. 



If everybody in the world was just like me 
What a splendid place to live in would this 

old world be. 
Now 1 do not mean I'm perfect, but my faults 

are very small 
Compared with *;hose of others— scarce worth 

mentioning at all. 
But other folks with all their faults go living 

right along 
So blind they never see the things that they 

are doing wrong, 
And I cannot keep from thinking what a fine 

old world 'twould be 
If all the people in it where just like me. 



If everybody in this world was just like me 
How greatly changed for better would this old 

world be. 
I don't see why some folks persist in having 

their own way. 
As if they owned the universe and wielded 

royal sway. 
And strangest part of all is this, they seem to 

think they're right 
And stumble on in wrong instead of turning to 

the light. 
Don't see how they can be so blind. If they 

could only see 
What a grand old world we'd make it were 

they all like me. 




O could I but convert the world to be just like 

me 
What a f plendid place to live in would this 

old world be. 
But it seems so very strange to me tho' argu- 
ments be strong 
Folks prefer to see things their way even tho' 

their way be wrong. 
But I'm glad the day is coming when the 

crooked will be straight. 
And my patience be rewarded tho' I had so 

loner to wait. 
The next world will be ideal, for I'm certain 

as can be 
That those who get to Heaven will be just 

like me. 




Let's think about the sunshine that makes this old world bright, 
And talk about the pleasant things that make the sad heart light. 
Let's clear the windows of the heart and let the sun's bright ray 
Illumine every path we tread until the close of day. 
And let's forget the night thai passed in beauty into morning 
And only see the splendor grand the Eastern sky adorning. 



Remember every cloud so dark has always silver lining. 
Then let us turn them inside out to show the side that's shining. 
Let's think that ere the stars can shine the glorious sun must set. 
That ere the flowers can blossom forth with rain-tears must be wet. 
And let's not grieve if in our lives the tear-drops sometimes fail 
Eemembering 'tis the Father's plan that worketh good for all. 



Let's think that ere the day can dawn we must have known the night. 

That the darkest hour in darkness sent is the hour before the light. 

Then let's each morning open up the windows of the heart 

And let the blessed sunshine into gladden every part. 

Then let the songbirds teach our hearts the anthems of thanksgiving, 

And just be glad each day we live that we are still a-living. 



One of God 9 ** Le*s*fon>r. 



A tiny seed had lain sleeping, 

Close covered by Nature's band, 
Until waked by whispers above it 

That it scarcely could understand— 
The hum of the wind-kissed grasses 

And the bird-song blithe and, gay, 
Till the seed was stirred with a longing 

To rise from where it lay. 



And there in the utter darkness 

It lifted its hands in prayer. 
Close-folded it pressed them upward, 

Up toward the light and air. 
And the darkness parted before it. 

The dark old earth gave way, 
Until, pressing upward, upward, 

It stood in the light of day. 



And there in the beauteous sunlight, 

With the song of the bird and bee , 
It at last with its lovely blossoms 

Stood crowned where the world might see. 
So if we, when the darkness presses, 

Will but lift our hands in prayer, 
We will find the darkness parting 

And light breaking every where, 



Then growing in grace and wisdom j 

We will gladden some heart each day 
With our own little bit of brightness, 

As they're passing along our way. 
And our hearts in God's beautiful sunlight 

Will list while the angels sing, 
And our lives be crowned with beauty 

In the presence of God, our King. 






The Wonderland of Childhood, 




In the wonderland of childhood let me wander, 

Where each day-dawn beams in beauty bright and 
fair. 
Where the summers last forever and forever. 

And life neither knows a burden nor a care. 
Where the treetops toss their giant, restless branches 

'Gainst the sky from out whose blue the angels 
smile. 
Where the angel voices seem to softly whisper — 

Angels voices our dull ears have lost awhile 

In the wonderland of childhood let me wander, 

Where each bird and bee and blossom seems a part 
Of the wonders God has lent our world of beauty, — 

Where we seem so close to Nature's throbbing heart 
Where the breezes play within the leafy tree tops 

Sweetest music while the birds in chorus sing, 
Till our childish fancy hears the harps of heaven 

Mingle softly as the strains the sweeter ring 

In the wonderland of childhood let me wander 

When the darkness draws a curtain o'er the light', 
And God sends His angels out to light the candles 

Where they brightly twinkle, twinkle all the night 
Where in beauties ever blending, never ending, 

Sunset glory soon is changed to morning beams 
While the angels watching o'er our midnight pillow 

Fill the hours for us with joyous, happy dreams 

In the wonderland of childhood let me wander. 

Heaven to childhood's sinless heart draws very near; 
And the messages our waiting hearts now long for, 

To our childish ears were whispered plain and clear. 
Let me wander back to childhood's sinless morning, 

That my heart may catch the message from above, 
That my soul may know that pure and sweet communion, 

And my life be lost in His Almighty love. 



Mr W 



E,a,4?ter Thought* 



Dark seemed the dawn as slowly on 

With sad bowed heads they went their way- 
Two lonely ones, for Him they loved 

They mourned as dead that Easter day. 
But when they reached their Savior's tomb 

An angel speaking to them said, 
"He whom you're seeking is not here. 

For He is risen from the dead." 

Glad were their hearts that Easter morn, 

And glad today our anthems ring, 
"O, grave, where is thy victorv? 

O, death, where is thy sting?" 
For more than they had asked or sought 

He gave the world thro' His dear Son; 
A life triumphant over death, 

A life with every victory won. 

Does life seem dark? Do your hopes lie 

Deep hidden thro' the passing days? 
And does your soul in anguish cry 

And grope in doubt tnro' darkened ways? 
Weep not, for lo, in God's good time. 

It may be days, it may be years- 
God's angels shall roll back the stone 

And give you joy for all your tears. 

That Easter morn He gave us life, 

Life everlasting, full and free, 
And with that gift, oh, faithful one, 

Shall all abounding blessings be. 
And He who freely gave us life, 

Life thro' that sacrifice sublime, 
Will grant these little things, dear heart, 

If you'll but wait His own good time. 




Mr \*> 



When yotir Wife Cleans 
House. 



My wife is cleaning house. How I dread these awful cleanings! 
Not a bit of peace or comfort can you get till they are done. 
You come home tired and worried, ready for a bit of cheering, 
And hear, "John, you beat the carpet while I get the dinner on," 

And you whack, whack, whack, 

Till you think you'll break your back, 
While you wonder if that dinner-time will ev«r, ever come. 



Might as well go beat the carpet for there's not a chair to sit on. 
The couch is piled with pictures, and one rocker holds a hat, 
While another's full of clothing, and the rest are loaded likewise, 
And you look at the confusion till you wonder where you're at, 

Better whack, whack, whack, 

Tho' you think 'twill break your back, 
Than try to sit you down to rest in such a room as that. 



Must be women like house-cleaning or they'd never, never do it, 
Don't see any sense in cleaning on a scale so mighty vast. 
But no use to tell your wife so, for she's sure her part's the hardest, 
And all arguments against it are like chaff to whirlwinds cast, 
So just whack, whack, whack- 
Never mind about your back — 
But you'll wish you were a bachelor till these cleaning days are 
past. 






The Cotv Hells 



lu the gathering hush of the twilight hour, 
From meadows sweet with dew-damp flower, 

Come those beautiful bells, 
Tinkling the tales that the butterfly told 
As he paused near the cowslip's heart of gold 
And murmured the tale ever new, yet old. 

Ring on, oh, beautiful bells. 



You passed 'neath the beech by the brooklet's 

side, 
Heard the whip-poor-will sing in the eventide, 

Oh, beautiful bells, 
Repeat to me now, with your silvery chime, 
The music you heard as you paused for a time 
'Neath the beech and list to the brooklet's 
rhyme. 
Ring on, oh, beautiful bells. 



c§ 



Sing of valleys green and sunkissed hilJs, 
Of rushing rivers and rippling rills. 

Oh, beautiful bells. 
Sing the life you see to these lives of ours, 
That from happy brooklet and lovely flowers 
We may learu a lesson for life's dark hours, 

Ring on. oh, beautiful bells. 



>s^y 



In the Valley of the Shadow. 



In the Valley of the Shadow when the work of Jife is done, 
When the battles all are ended, and the victory is won. 
Tho 1 I felt Christ's presence with me all along the weary race, 
In the Valley of the Shadow 1 shall meet Him face to face. 

Tho' I feel that now Re leads me and beside me walks unseen, 
Leads me by the living waters, lets me rest in pastures green; 
Tho' I hourly see His mercy, and behold His wondrous grace. 
In the Valley of the Shadow I shall meet him face to face. 



In the Valley of the Shadow when life's struggles all are o'er, 
And behind are all earth's trials, naught but joy and Heaven 

before, 
It will be a joyful meeting He's provided by His grace 
In the valley of the Shadow, where I'll meet Him face to face. 

Blessed thought! That in the valley as the shadows darker 

grow, 
I shall meet my dear Redeemer face to face and Him shall 

know! 
Tho' through life I trust His guidance, feel His love, behold His 

grace, 
In the Valley of the Shadow I shall meet Him face to face t 



^/l Hero in Gray 



Upon the field <»f Fredericksburg 

After the battle's close, 
Two armies camped. Between their lines 

A thick stone wall arose, 
And on one side was seen encamped 

The gray Confederate ranks. 
Ten rods away, beyond the wall, 

Encamped the blue-coat "yanks." 

The intervening space between 

The blue-eoats and the wall, 
Was thickly strewn with their brave men 

Shattered by shot and ball. 
Hundreds lay still in death's embrace, 

Yet hundreds still remain; 
And cries of, "Water," mingled with 

The groauings of their pain. 



S 



A young lieutenant clad in gray 

Sought his commander's side, 
And begged that he might water give 

To these men ere they died, 
"To pass beyond that wall is death !" 

The General made reply. 
But still the boy undaunted asked, 

"But, General, may I try?" 



''Try? Yes! And may God save you, lad. 

How could 1 say you, 'No,' 
When your brave heart, my noble boy, 

Calls you and bids you go." 
With, "Thank you, sir," he turned and filled 

With water his canteen, 
And quickly o'er the wall, his form 

Was by the blue-coats seen. 



A volley his appearance met 

The shots fell thick and fast, 
Around his form the musket balls 

Went whizzing swiftly past. 
Amid the flying balls he knelt 

Upon the blood-stained ground, 
And lifted up a dying head 

While shots rained thick around, 



m 



H 



Then to the parched and thirsty lips 

The cup of water pressed, 
And by the dying soldier's words 

The generous deed was blessed, 
He laid him on the ground 

But as he turned away 
The soldier ope'd his eyes and saw 

His friend was clad in gray. 

So quickly on from man to man 

The youthful hero went, 
And over many a dying foe 

His gray-clad form was bent. 
At last his deed was understood 

And from the foemen's ranks, 
Cheer upon cheer was mingled with 

The dying soldier's thanks. 

And when his noble task was done 

And o'er the wall he sprang 
The heartfelt cheers of Union men 

With answering echoes rang. 
So ever thus the tender heart 

The bravest heart will prove. 
And the noblest deeds for brother done 

A brother does thro' love. 



><c^ 



^/Imerica, 




H, glorious country of the free! 

Eternal thy foundation 
Rests upon truth and liberty, 

The watchwords of our nation. 
Forever may our Union stand 

By bonds of love united 
And her brave sons fulfill to her 

The vows of truth they plighted. 

Her brave boys proved at Lexington 

They loved their country's glory- 
And round the firos of Valley Forge 

'Twas the same old story. 
Nor vain the prayers of Washington 

Ascended up to Heaven, 
Nor yet in vain from heroes' hearts 

Was lifeblood freely given. 

Upon those battle fields today 

No din of warfare clashes. 
The campfires built at Valley Forge 

Are long consumed in ashes. 
But Liberty her flag unfurls, 

Our dear beloved "Old Glory," 
And tho' a hundred years have passed, 

Repeats the same old story. 




^tje^s^ggjaj^g^s^sy^c 



> tS^bss**^^^?*:^^^ 



Evening Shadotvf. 



<& 



Wife, the evening shadows are falling. The sun has 

sunk to rest, 
For the wondrous glow and beauty is fading from 

out the West. 
Come sit by me in the twilight as the shadows longer 

grow 
And hand in hand we'll wander back to the long ago, 
Rack to our life's bright morning filled with the song 

of birds. 
Filled with a joy and gladness never expressed in 

words. 

Back where the children's laughter its answering 
echoes found 

Calling from out the forest that girded our cabin 
round. 

Ah, some of those childish voices that rang thro' the 
forest old 

King to-night thro' the twilight down from the streets 
of gold. 

Don't you hear those voices calling to us in the twi- 
light, dear, 

Down from the heavenly portals in accents so sweet 
and clear? 

Yes, the evening shadows are falling, but the voices 

of long ago 
Call to another morning beyond this sunset's glow. 
And, wife, though the darkness deepens, we can look 

beyond the night 
To where the dear ones wait us in the morning's 

light. 
Yes, wife, I can hear them calling, calling for us to 

come, 
And soon in Life's golden morning we will meet with 

them all "At home." 



>s^y 



'v- 






& 



My ZSrtift 



I know uot why Tbou Last bid my feet 

To walk this way 
But since Thou hast, I know 'twill lead 

To perfect day. 

I see not why such dangers lie 

Close everywhere, 
Unless to show how much I need 

Thy watchful care. 

And when the shadows fall 

In deepening night, 
Perhaps 'tis but that I may look 

To Thee for light. 

Lord, lead Thou me. I feel my need 

Of Thee, each hour. 
My very weakness but reveals 

To me Thy power 



So, would I win, 1 know that I 

Must follow Thee, 
Must look to Thee each day, each hour. 

Lord, lead Thou me. 



>T&>M 



■'S: f O 



My Comfort 



"He cannot come to me." Adown the years 
My feet must journey on their way alone. 

No baby feet to patter by my side, 

No little baby hand to clasp my own. 

An angel came and whispeiing words of love 

He bore him from me to his home above. 
"He cannot come to me." 



"But I can go to him." Across the yearsi 
My feet will haste to meet my baby boy, 

And when I reach the pearly gate I know 

He'll meet me there with all his old-time joy 

And so, tho' lonely be my heart today, 

Hope's star lights up with glory all the way. 
For "I can go to him," 



Our Charity 



Let us have charity. The world is wide 
And there is many an aching heart therein 
Throbbing with noble thoughts that lead toward God, 
Whose spirit wills to do the Almighty will, 
But fails because the mortal flesh is weak, * 
.Let us judge righteously. We surely know 
That while our feet may stand on solid rock 
Others may find the quicksands and go down. 
If we are stronger than a fellow-man, we know 
Who gave that strength, that it is not our own. 
And we should point with all humility. 
To that great Strength that is the source of strength. 



(§ 



Thou wouldst not sin his sin? Then thank thy God 

That He has given to thy soul the power 

By which thou conquerest. Perhaps to thee 

Has never come temptations such as rob 

The heart of courage and the will of power. 

And yet again. Thou knowest not his prayer 

At midnight hour in darkness and despair, 

The agony of knowing when morning came 

That he would fall again. Nay, spurn him not, 

Perhaps thy hand may lead him to the light, 

May lead him to where immortal crowns await 

For him who overcometh. Greater this 

Than leading mighty armies into war, 

Or conquering all the world for aught but God. 



>^ 



The ^Ttortn 



The storm in fury raged. The wind 

Swept o'er the waters of the deep 
And lashed to waves and billows wild 

What but before had seemed asleep. 
The thunders rolled. The lowering sky 

Its wrath against the waters hurled 
As tho' some mighty army had 

Against the foe its flag unfurled. 

Hut deep beneath theiwind-tossed waves 

All undisturbed by ceaseless roar 
The ocean slept in peace as tho' 

No tempest swept its waters o'er. 
And thus to-day the tempests sweep 

Across the ocean of my life. 
Each helpless, wind-tossed wave sweeps on 

Before the tempest's angry strife. 



& 



Rage on, oh, storm! Within my soul 

There is a depth beyond your power, 
A depth so calm that, undisturbed 

It rests tho' mighty tempests lower. 
For He who gives the sea its calm 

While tempests rage without, above, 
Shall give my soul its sweet repose 

Within the stillness of His love. 



Song of JVattire 



All nature listens for the voice of God 

And, bearing she, obeys. Then filled with joy 

And rapture in the presence of her Lord 

Bursts forth in melody. The ancient hills 

Rear their gray heads to heaven as if they fain 

Would leave the dark foundation where they rest 

And bow their hoary heads in the Divine 

And awful presence of a living God, 

The heavens do declare His glory, who 

Has set each planet in its course and marked 

Its path, as thro' the trackless space above 

It follows where His finger points the way. 

The sun, celestial wanderer, shines today 
As on creation's morn, when, thro' the heavens 
Robed in eternal darkness, came the words 
In the Creator's voice, "Let there be light." 
And still he rules the day as when he shone 
On Eden's blooming bowers ere man had sinned. 
And when the evening comes he wraps himself 
In mantling clouds of crimson and of gold 
And sinks to rest, while gently round his couch 
The darkness draws its curtains. 

One by one 
Night's messengers, the shadows, softly come 
To light the candles of the dark'ning skies. 
Then thro' the gates where in the morning, burst 
The sun in regal glory, now comes forth 
The silver moon in queenly robes arrayed 
To rule the night as God commanded her. 
And so thro' all the universe we see 
That nature listens for the voice of God 
And hearing, she obeys. 



Shall all these things— 
The rocks inanimate, the vernal vales, 
The brooks whose murmured music on the air 
Fills up the space the song-bird vacant left- 
Shall snn and moon and stars and rainbow hues 
Declare His glory to the universe, 
And we not hear the voice that speaks to usl 
Hush ! From the forest comes a melody 
Wafted by zephyrs ; and the vernal hills 
Catch up the soft refrain, and bird and bee 
And blossom now bring forth melodious praise. 
Caught by the echoes it is wafted up 
Until the stars in the eternal space 
Join in the glad refrain; and higher still 
'Tis borne along until the gates of Heaven 
Are reached and angels there with golden harps 
Take up the earthly strain and mingle there 
Their heavenly harps and voices, until all 
The universe is lost in one sweet song. 



)^ 



^fl Legend. 



I read such a beautiful legend, a tale of the days of 

old, 
And I wish to pass on to you, friend, the story the 

legend told, 
It was this: That back in the ages when all was pure 

and fair 
They could look across into Heaven and behold God's 

glory there, 
They could see their loved ones crossing onto the 

the shining strand, 
And see the joys that awaited when they entered the 

Glory land, 

But their hearts were filled with such longing as they 

gazed from this earthly shore, 
That their only prayer was, "Take me to my loved 

ones gone before !" 
And they knew no rest nor gladness with the joy of 

Heaven in sight, 
But ever prayed to enter the city so fair and bright, 
Till the Father, filled with pity at their longing for 

glories unseen, 
Drew, with His loving kindness, the curtain of Death 

between. 



^ 



It is there today, but beyond it, tho' hid from our 

mortal sight, 
Our dear ones walk in beauty, in Heaven's eternal 

light. 
We see not the joys they have entered, for only the 

eye of faith 
Can look beyond the darkness of the curtain that we 

call "Death." 
But just beyond they await us, and we'll find these 

glories true 
When by angel hands the curtain is lifted for me and 

you. 



Who Shall fRoll At&ay 
the Stone? 



Two women that fair Easter morning 

Were wending their way to His tomb, 
In their hands they bore spices and perfumes 

Hut their hearts were heavy with gloom. 
For they thought of the stone far too S.eavy 

For there feeble hands to remove, 
And it lay between them and there Master 

And hindered thei* mission of love. 



And they said, "Who shall roll from the door 
way 

The stone, for it is very great?" 
But no voice replied to their question 

Nor eased the sad heart of its weight. 
But lo, when tbey stood at the portal 

In the light of the dawning of day, 
The stone that for them was too heavy 

An angel had rolled it away. 

So we, as we follow there footsteps 

And go on God's missions of love, 
So we find things in our pathway 

Too heavy for us to remove. 
And our hearts grow faint as we journey, 

Our footsteps heavy and slow, 
Rut we only press on toward the Master. 

For there's nowhere else we would go. 

Take courage, faint heart, and draw nearer. 

The angels are waiting ns there 
They will give to the sad heart the message 

God has sent as an answer to prayer. 
And we'll find as we draw near the portal 

In the Jight of the dawning of day 
The stone that for us is to heavy, 

God's angel has rolled it away. 



at* 



y 




Hi*s Comic Valentine 



I sent her an awful one last year, 

The very worst one I could find, 
For she had been smiling on Henry 

Who sat in the seat just behind. 
I thought I was glad when 1 sent it 

But my anger began to relent 
When she showed me, with tears on her lashes, 

The valentine someone had sent. 



I laid awake long after midnight 

A thinkin' how mean I had been, 
And I vowed that next year I would send her 

The best one the stores had in. 
That's today ! But out on the hillside 

Where the snow lies so heavy and deep. 
As pure and as whita as the snowdrift, 

Little Bessie is lying asleep. 



And I'd give all my toys and my marbles 

Had I sent her a nice one last year. 
If I only had known she would leave us 

I would never have caused her that tear. 
But it's done, and I cannot undo it," 

No matter how hard I repent, 
I still see the hot tears on her lashes 

O'er the valentine some one had sent. 



s*0Er^ 





don't think mncb of that 'ere school the fel- 
lers call the "U." 

I'm so discouraged 'b< nt my John I don't know 
what to do. 

Now my son John he just sot out an' left the 
farm an' went 

Because he said some day he's goin' to run fer 
President, 

An' needed that 'ere trainin' he'd get at that 
'ere "U" — 

Rut 'taint agoin' to help him none I'm sartin CSjj 
thro' an' thro'. 



'C'kuso wiien that boy of mine came home to spend the hollowdays. 
He brought along back with him the most shockin' clothes an' ways 
He had a pair of panterloons that looked like mattresses, 
All padded thick and quilted, an' say! my color riz 
To think that any boy that left the farm agoin' to run 
Fer President, would think of it with such an outfit on. 



He en lied 'em "foot-ball panterloons" an' tired to make us see 
How they'd keep off the kicks an' sech as easy as could be. 
But if he's got to run in clothes so heavy an' so thick 
He'll be so far from President he'll never need a kick 
I'll tell yer, ye must look the question fairly in the face 
An' not have things to hender in a Presidental race. 



But John he's so determined an' so sot in his own way 

That he took them football panterloons when he went back today. 

But if he wears 'em when he runs fer President I know 

He surely will get beaten fer he'll have to run so slow. 

An' then perhaps he'll think of what I said when it comes true 

An' allow Dadknowed about as much as them fellers at the "U". 




5^*> £^^^^^>^^^^^^^%^^f 




XShe *Rea,l 





As the day exceeds the night-time in the 
brightness of its glory 
So the sweetness of the story of a life ex- 
ceeds its dreams. 
And the beauties ever blending with the sweet- 
ness never ending 
Of the realized soul-fancies far exceeds 
that which but seems. 



Yea, our souls in deepest moments reach a 
height our minds ne'er dreamed of, 
And the things our fancy paintsd fade be- 
side the things that are, 
Clearer light the sunset dyeth than the paint- 
er's brush portrayeth, 
And the love our life enjoyeth than our 
fancies is more fair. 



Ah to live ! how sweet the pleasure just to 
know we have a measure 
Of the riches of the treasure life is giving 
to us all. 
Just to live ! To live is beauty, and to each the 
path of duty. 
Far outshines the perished fancies time 
has swept beyond recall. 




One Hour of HeanJen 



Life, thou art good to us. Countless treasures 

Layest thou dowu each day at our feet. 
Numberless blessings in fullest measures 

Fall from above like the manna sweet. 
But, if you will, through the countless ages 

Take all the pleasures to morals given, 
They'll not compare, though they number 
many, 

To the joys we would find in one hour o 
Heaven. 



Love hast thou given ns, pure and holy, 

Lighting our path as a light divine, 
Be that path ever so rough and lowly, 

Life, thou dost make it with beauties shine. 
Peace, to those seeking it calm as a river. 

Still and deep is to morals given. 
But oh, the love, the peace and the beauty 

We shall know in one hour of Heaven. 



Eye hath not seen, nor in man's heart entered 

The joys prepared for the ones that love 
The Master's coming — whose hearts are 
centered 

On priceless treasures laid up above. 
Treasures of earth we held most holy 

God gives back to him who has given. 
Not one missing— grown richer, rarer — 

And oh, the joy of one hour of Heaven. 



"'r;'H v- 




One hour? Ah, no! But forever and ever. 

Lost in the joys of Eternity, 
Our lives are but like a tiny river 

Flowing out into a boundless sea. 
And on and on through the endless ages 

Joys untold shall to us be given. 
But more than all that a lifetime gave us 

We shall find in each hour of Heaven. 



Say, ¥a, I* tohat So? 




Say, Pa, I heard some fellers say that they're a-goin' to vote 
'Bout whether the saloons will stay another year or not. 
You know last year you voted for them, so of coarse they stayed, 
And that you'll vote for them again I know ma's half afraid. 
But, Pa, don't you remember how awful bad things went 
The years they've had saloons here— we don't seem to have a cent 
And will you celebrate the Fourth the way you did last year 
So I can't have no fire-crackers like the other boys around here? 
Say, Pa, is that so? 



An', Pa, the boys are pokiu' fun at these old shoes 1 wear, 
And if they get saloons again, must I wear tbem another year* 
And will you take the money you know we need for food 
To the saloon and blow it where it don't do us no good, 
Then go to Lawton's for some flour and ask 'em to be trusted, 
Or down to Berg's or the Cash Supply and tell 'em that yer 

busted? 
Or maybe that you promise them that they will get their pay 
When the saloons are voted out— fer that's the only way. 
Say, Pa, is that so? 



But, Pa, I'm only just a boy an' you're a growed up man 
An' I can't see things plain like you an' the other fellows can. 
So maybe when I'm all growed up I'll see these things like you, 
And spend my money too down there just like the way you do. 
'Cause all the boys like me they say when they get to be a man, 
They'll be just like their fathers as nearly as they can. 
An', Pa, I'm goin' to be like you. I'll tell you so you'll see 
You'll have to be the kind of man that you want me to be. 
Say, ain't that so? 



Then let me tell you something, Pa, I wish that you could see 
What happens every night you go and leave my ma and me 
And sister here alone. We all kneel down and pray 
That God will send you sober home and drive this curse away. 
An' wouldn't it be a good idee when votin' day is here 
To think about the fire-crackers an' shoes I want next year? 
To think about how happy our little home might be — 
We're worth more to you than saloons, sister an' ma an' me ! 
Say, aint that so? 



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&he Menage of Chrijrtma.4; 



e 




Wber> the Babe was born in the manger that 

Christmas so lonsr ago 
The angels proclaimed the tiding that the 

world its joy might know. 
And the bsautiful <'nristmas message sung by 

the angels then 
Is ringing across the ages, "Peace on Earth, 

good will to men." 

They sang it not to the mighty in palaces fair 

anrl briirht 
But unto the simple shepherds as they watched 

their Hocks by night. 
And the glory of God shown o'er them as the 

angel chorus saDg 
And down from the gates of Heaven the 

answering echoes rang. 

So today no matter how lowly the path we are 

treading lies 
We may hear the song of the angels as it rings 

through the midnight skies. 
They ma ,y pass by palace and mansion where 

the glittering things of earth 
Have crowded away from the household the 

things of heavenly worth. 

While those who are outon the hillside, under 

the skies of night 
Behold the hosts of Heaven clad in celestial 

light, 
And see the Star stilllshining as they list' to the 

glad refrain 
Ringing across the ages, "Peace on earth 

good will to men." 




K 



& 



Uhem Gerrn-*&tig*$ 



Things are looking mighty.scarey wben a fellow stops to think 
About these germ-luigs swallowed every time he takes a drink, 
Every time he eats a mouthful that his wife ain't cooked just right, 
Every time he sleeps on pillows when he goes to bed at night, 
Every time he breathes a breathful as he goes his work about — 
Well he knows the things will catch him, 
If 

he 

don't 

watch 
out. 



Never used ter hear of sech things, sure they must be something new 
Like the automobile wagon 'bout what there is such ado. 
And I'll tell yer this old planet's gettin' queerer every day 
Till a chap begins to wonder if it's really safe to stay, 
But the worst things is them germ-bugs fer they've got so thick about 
That a chap knows sure they'll catch him, 
If 
he 

don't 

watch 
out. 



If you're tired after working, sleepy when you go to bed, 
Wake up sleepless in the morning, dizzy when you bump yer head, 
If you feel full after dinner, hungry when its supper-time, 
Gross when meals ain't always ready, or yer wife asks for a dime, 
If you've any of these symptoms let me tell you without doubt 
That the germ-bugs sure have got you 
'Cause 
you 

hain't 

watched 
out. 



, i^^^^^^^^B^^^^^fi 





ZShe Old 

Man's 

Valentine 



I'm seDding this Valentine, sweetheart, 

Don't smile when you see it's from me, 
Nor think I'm too old for such "nonsense," 

I'm enjoying it much as can be. 
For, wife, all the young folks are sending 

To their sweethearts some token today, 
So Im going to send one to my sweetheart, 

Tho' our heads are both silvery gray. 



The roses upon it are white ones — 

A love through deep trials made pure. 
The forget-me-nots woven among them 

Are sweet mem'ries that ever endure. 
And here's Cupid — ah well do we know him- 

He's dwelt with us many a year, 
For we've lived in the shine and the shadow. 

And loved thro' the smile and the tear. 



And beneath, if you'll lift up the blossoms, 

I have written where no one may see, 
A sweet little scrap of a poem 

As sweet as a poem could be, 
And you'll read it tonight in the twilight, 

As you sit with a hand clasped in mine, 
And your heart will be glad I remembered 

To send you a sweet Valentine. 




Do It JVfokv. 



Is there any act of kindness you have planned for by and by 
To make someone's burden lighter, 
To make someone's pathway brighter 1 ? 

Do it now. 
Life is passing swift away. 
Good you've planned to do "some day," 

Do it now. 

There are many aching bosoms in the crowd that passes by 
Do you know some word that spoken 
Might bind up the heart that's broken 1 ? 

Speak it now. 
Deem it not a little thing, 
Peace and comfort it taay bring. 

Speak it now. 

There is many a heart that hungers for the love your heart 
can give. 
Let your love be freely given 
As the love that comes from Heaven. 

Give it now. 
Do not wait till from your side 
Death has borne him o'er the tide 
Give it now. 

Ah, we need kind words and actions and the bright sun- 
shine of love. 
Then our burdens will be lighter, 
And our pathway will be brighter. 

Give them now 
Life is passing swift away 
Good you've planned to do "some day," 
Do it now. 






m^PFfi 



Merry Chri*simci*s to J^ou 




May we wish you Merry Christmas for the Christmas day that's coming, 
Full of joy and cheer and sunshine as a Christmas day should be? 

Yes, we wish you fullest measure of the gladness and the pleasure 
That the glorious Christmas morning ever brings to you and me. 



May the angel chorus singing, '"Peace on earth, good will to others," 

Flood your hearts upon the dawning of the day when Christ was born. 

That the beauty of the living and the spirit ef the giving 

Fill your hearts and hands for services on the beauteous Christmas morn. 



And when Santa thro' the chimney comes asliding down at midnight 
May he fill the waiting stockings with many a wished-for toy. 

That the little white-robed figures creeping from the bed at daybreak 
May find no disappointments to mar Christmas joy. 



So we wish you Merry Christmas. To you all we send our geetings. 

On your Christmas sunshine may no shadow fall, 
But may peace and joy and pleasure fill the hours to fullest measure. 

Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas to you all. 



Hecititiftil +V*notv 



Thro' all the day the sunbeams 

Were hid from our sight away, 
And the beautiful blue of Leaven 

Was changed to a murky gray. 
The earth lay bare and frozen, 

And wintry winds whistled keen. 
No bird or blossoming flower 

Cheered up the shadowy scene. 



But as we gazed from the window 

Up to the clouds on high, 
Softly floated the snowflakes 

Down from the murky sky. 
They rested on field and meadow 

Soft as an angel's wing, 
And a robe of celestial whiteness 

To the cold dark earth did bring. 



They covered each scar and blemish 

With a beauty we cannot tell, 
And soft on our hearts a lesson 

With the falling snowfiakes fell. 
How often our Heavenly Father 

From out of the clouds above 
Lets fall on our hearts a blessing, 

A touch of eternal love. 



And wrapping our human natures, 

In robes of celestial white, 
We stand in His holy presence 

Beautiful, pure and bright, 
And we prayed, "Our Heavenly Father, 

Whose mercy is over all, 
Soft on our hearts let the blessings 

Like the beautiful snowflakes fall." 



Woodland Whispers 



There's a place I love to wander when the summer 
days are fair, 

Or the breath of beauteous Springtime floats upon 
the balmy air. 

There the songbird softly warbles to his mate his 
sweetest lay, 

And the woods are filled with music all the glad- 
some summer day, 

In its music and its sunshine life's dull cares so 
soon depart 

And all the noble thoughts find entrance to the 
temple of the heart. 



On. the sunny sloping hillsides here and there the 

shadows fall, 
As they fall across the sunshine in the hearts of 

one and all; 
And from out the shade the songbird fills with 

music every part 
As the angels softly whisper thro' the shadows of 

the heart. 
O, the messages of beauty nature to our hearts 

doth give, 
Teaching us thro' shine and shadow of the nobler 

way to live. 



There the flowers are looking upward to the deep 
blue sky above, 

Where the stars look down forever, emblems of 
eternal love. 

And the soul, enraptured, strengthened, feels the 
breath of Lord Divine 

Breathing from the star-eyed blossoms and the 
flower-like stars that shine, 

Till the soul is lifted upward far above the com- 
mon sod 

To a plane of sweet communion with its Maker and 
its God. 




Watching for Papa 



No matter how hard was the toiling 

Nor tiresome the day's work might be, 
I knew that the eve would be brightened 

By the welcome that waited for me. 
And my steps grew light as I hurried, 

For I knew as I drew near my home 
That a dear little face at the window 

Was watching for "Papa to come." 

Now I miss the sweet face at the window, 

The patter of swift little feet, 
The glad cry of "Baby meet Papa," 

As he hastened my coming to greet. 
But I dream that in mansions of glory 

As I draw near my Heavenly home 
There's a dear little face at the window 

Watching for papa to come. 

And, oh, how it sweetens life's sadness 

And lightens the toil of the way, 
To know that my baby is waiting 

To meet me at close of the day, 
And again the glad cry of "Meet Papa," 

Will welcome my weary heart home, 
And I'll enter Life's joys with the Baby 

Who is watching for "Papa to come." 



i^^^^^s^ji^^^^^q^a^^^^^^^i^^^Q^^^ 



£ 



Gethsemcine 



What lesson 'twere for us that in the shades 
Of dark Gethsemane where Jesus wept. 
That 'twas alone he drank the bitter cup 
In midnight darkness while the others slept, 
Nor chided for weakness of the flesh. 
But Saw alone the spirit's willingness. 



Give me, oh Lord, when midnight's lonely hour 
My soul must spend in dark Gethsemane, 
The Strength to bear alone the heavy cross, 
Or drink the bitter cup Thou givest me; 
Nor waken from their restful slumbers deep 
Those who would gladly watch with me and weep. 



£ 



For well we know these other weary souls 
Must watch alone in their Gethsemane 
While others slumber. Must go forth to bear 
Their crosses toward the heights of Calvary. 
I cannot ask that they would bear with me 
The midnight hour of my Gethsemane. 



But I would ask that from the heights above 
The angels watch with me the while I pray, 
That I faint not tho' I should watch alone 
While others slumber till the break of day, 
This is my prayer. If thou grant this to me, 
I'll watch alone in my Gethsemane. 




Uired 



Are you tired to-night, little mother? 

Have the children been noisy today, 
And driven the peace of the household 

And the charm of its quiet away? 
And now when the clatter is ended, 

When resting is each curly head, 
Do you sit with a big pile of mending 

For the dear little toddlers in bed? 

Ah, mother, I envy your evening 

As you draw your chair close to the light, 
I would give, oh, more than you dream of 

If 1 could be tired to-night; 
Tired with the noise of the children, 

With the patter and rush of their feet, 
With the endless asking of questions 

And the ring of their laughter sweet. 



But I sit here to-night idle-handed, 

While upstairs is an empty white bed 
By which in the once happy twilight 

We bent o'er a bright golden head, 
And the dear little garments that waited 

My care at the close of the day 
Have all been lovingly cared for 

And tearfully folded away. 



So I sit here to-night in the shadows 

And live o'er the evenings now gone, 
When I slipped from the dear little bed-side 

And returned to the tasks to be done. 
Yes, mother, 1 envy your evening 

As you draw your chair close to the light. 
I would give, oh, more than you dream of 

If I could be tired to-night, 



Jtiftfor Today 



Teach me, oh Lord, Thy will, 

Just for today. 
Teach me, this little hour, 

To walk Thy way, 
Not in my strength, but in Thine own, I pray, 
Teach me to do Thy will, just for today, 

Let me not shun the path 

Thou hast chose for me, 

Tho' it must pass thro' dark 
Gethsemane, 

For today's journey Thou my guidance be, 

And let Thy wondrous grace suffice for me. 

Let me Thy presence feel 

This little hour, 
Sustain my fainting heart 

By Thy great power, 
Safe in Thy care, tho' mighty tempests lower, 
No more their wrath I'll fear than summer 
shower. 



So guide me, blessed Lord, 

Just for today, 
Lead Thou my faltering feet 

Thine own way, 
So leave me not alone in all the way 
Ontil my soul has reached eternal day, 



A Mother's Treasures 



Upstairs in a chest safely folded away 

From the light of the day is my treasure. 
Little garments that loving hands fashioned 
with care 
And toiled o'er their making with pleasure. 
There are fair, dainty garments my baby boy 
wore — 
His little coats, bonnets and dresses, 
Each one has been dewed with a fond mother's 
tears, 
And folded with silent caresses. 
I treasure each one as a miser his gold, 

For each with sweet memories is laden, 
But dearer to me than all of the rest 

Are the little worn clothes that he played 
in. 



%^> ^F =Ss *s&S^z^F :a! SQg^(^3$ 




Uhe Coming of JacKFrost 



Jack Frost met Miss Autumn one bright crispy 

morn, 
And she asked him if he would the forest 

adorn ; 
So seizing his paints to the forest he sped 
And painted the forest leaves yellow and red. 
But Jack is a mischief tho' seemingly meek, 
For he pinched every apple on its red cheek. 
He whispered strange words in the ears of the 

corn 
When he told them the farmer would shock 

them next morn. 



s 



Then he said to the pumpkin, "I'll do you no 

harm 
For the boys with their candles will keep you 

quite warm, 
j only will add, when they do, don't make 

faces, 
'Twill surely not add to your well-rounded 

graces." 
A potato peeped out thro' its half-opened eye, 
And a shudder ran thro' it when it saw who 

passed by. 
While out in the garden where grew things to 

eat, 
One softly exclaimed, "There's Jack Frost! 

Well I'm beet!" 



Jack laughed as he looked o'er his pranks of 
the night, 

Forgetting they'd show in the clear morning 
light. 

But the apple's red cheeks and the corn's ting- 
ling ear 

Told a tale that to all passers by was most 
clear. 

The beet looked half dead, and with a cool air 

The pumpkin returned the potatoes' cold stare. 

And so, tho' he fled at the first ray of light, 

All the children cried out, "Jack Frost came 
last night." 



>T^ 



Today's 'Battle 



If your country called for a sword, a banner 

and battlefield, 
(Jailed for a strong right arm her honor and 

truth to shield, 
Your hand would be quickly raised, and 

straight at the threatening foe 
In the sight of the world would its strength 

be hurled, 
Dealing the conquering blow. 

Your country calls for a sword and gives you 

a battlefield, 
Galls for a strong right arm her honor and 

truth to shield, 
Will that hand with the ballot be raised, and 

straight at the threatening foe 
In the sight of the world its strength be hurled 
Dealing the conquering blow? 

Will you press where the fight is thick and 
close with the ranks of wrong, 

Fighting the battle of right with a courage 
firm and strong? 

Will you against all odds to the temperance 
cause be true. 

And never yield to the wrong the field? 

The victory depends on yon. 



^ 




Our Thanks to Thee 




Father, we lift our hearts to Thee 

In grateful praise 
That with thy blessings Thou hast crowned 

The passing days. 
That in thy mercy Thou hast led 

Where'er we trod, 
That every path of joy or pain 

Might lead lo God. 

We thank Tbee, Lord that when the shades 

Of sorrow's night 
Closed over all, but brighter shone 

Thy guiding light. 
That when earth's dazzling pleasures met 

Us every where, 
The shadow of thy wings shut out 

The alluring glare. 

And as we journey on apace 

From day to day, 
We know thy guiding finger points 

For us the way, 
That life nor death nor present things 

Nor things to come 
Can shut us from the love of God 

That leads us home. 



We can but see how manifold 

Thy gifts to all. 
And feel that what our lives return 

Is, oh, so small. 
So, Lord, today we left our hearts 

In grateful praise 
That with thy blessings Thou hast crowned 

The passing days. 



The Old year and the JVetv 



Tonight the Old Year folds his record books 

And lays them by with those of other years. 
Each day we wrote our little line therein 

Illumined with smiles or blotted thick with tears. 
That which was written— no matter what it be- 
Remains unchanged throughout Eternity. 



Some lines were written with fingers firm and strong 

In burning words we would not wish effaced. 
At some our fingers trembled, and the tears 

Almost shut out the sentence which we traced. 
Thou, Lord who judgest everything a right. 
Which writing will best stand thy searching light? 



But with the morn the New Year comes to us, 

Her records all unwritten, pure and white. 
And dare I take that record? Yea, I must, 
It must be written be it dark or bright. 

But He who marks the planet's pathless way- 
Will guide my little record day by day. 



And this my prayer as gently in my hands 

The New Year lays her record, that this year's 
Be but a record of the good and true 

Whether the lines be bright or dimmed with tears. 
And if each day that comes I live my best 
I, in my Father's care, can trust the rest. 




Efjcplained. 




Two city dudes thro' the country strolled 

One crisp November morn, 
And as on they wandered their pathway led 

By a field of fresh-shocked corn 
It happened a honey-bee buzzed that way 

In hopes it a flower could see 
But never one had the poor bee found 

Tho' it hunted faithfully. 



The first city dude cried out as the bee 

Paused to rest on a stalk of corn, 
"Oh what can induce that poor little bee 

To be out on this chilly morn ! 
Why be doesn't fly to his nice warm nest 

I'm sure I can't comprehend. 
He'll surely catch cold and his little life 

Will meet an untimely end." 



But the other quieted all his fears, 

He saw no cause for alarm 
For he had learned much in the three or four days 

He had spent on his uncle's farm, 
"Don't worry about it, Chawley boy, 

'Tis plain enough to me, 
For don't cher know here's a field of corn 

And this is a husking-bee. 



If I Had Jti*rt Today. 






If I had just today in which to love thee, 

If at its close my soul mast pass away, 

How lmicl) of love, how much of love's sweet kindness 
My heart could put into this one short day, 
If 1 had just today. 



All sorrow in these hours would be forgotten, 

My heart would overflow with love to thee. 

My lips would find the way for its expression, 

My soul would find with thine a harmony, 
If I had just today. 



I'll live today as tho' the twilight shadows 

Must hear me whisper to the life's good night. 
As tho' the angels waited for that whisper 

To bear me from thee to the realms of light 

And gave me just today. 



And so today I'll live and love thee truly. 

Thy heart shall know the fullness of that love. 
Tomorrow morn may find my spirit waiting 

For thine beside the pearly gates above— 

I may have just today. 



>s&ay 



The Little Chap and the Snow Storm 



Say, wasu't that a jolly snow came tumbling 

down last night! 
The wood-pile's buried to the top, the walks 

is just a fright. 
Pa had to do the shovelin', my head's been 

achin' so, 
And I've got a cold and hadn't ought to be out 

shovelin' snow. 
Hut Pa's got all the shovelin' done, my head 

feels better, some, 
Guess I'll call the fellers to the hill, we'll make 

the old sleds hum. 

Ma says I've got to bring in wood; Pa's shov- 
eled to the pile. 

1 think they'd better let those sticks stay and 
dry out awhile. 

This wood is awful heavy when its loaded 
down with snow, 

Besides the boys have got a 'bob' and are 
waitin' fer me to go. 

I guess one armful is enough. I'll bring more 
by and by. 

Besides I think the pesky stuff ought to stay 
out and dry. 

Yes, boys, I'm comin'. Say, that 'bob' is buried 
to the top ! 

But never mind, we'll haul her to the hill with- 
out a stop. 

Say, fellers aint this jolly, and see this glorious 
drift! 

Now. fellers, yank with all your might, we all 
have got to lift. 

There's lots more drifts like that one, but 
we've strong arms, yours and mine. 

Say, there's nothing like a snow storm to make 
a chap feel fine. 



£ 




Before Christmas 



How glad I will be if I'm ever growed up 

Like my Daddy or Uncle Joe; 
For Santa don't care wbat the grown folks do, 

It is just little boys yon know. 
He must spend most his time a-hangin' around 

Between one Christmas time and the next, 
And remembers tbe boys who sass. back their mas, 

And quarrel and fight and get vexed, 

So you'll have to be good before Cnristmas, ' 

And no matter how. mean the other kids are, 
I tell you it's no time to fight. 

Just remember that Santa is listenin' round 
And spunk up and say it aiut right. 

And then there's the girls — they're the werst of 
it all- 
No teasing till Christmas is past. 

You can't hide their dolls, nor have one bit of fun. 
Thank goodness! this wont always last! 
But you've got to be good before Christmas. 

Wheu Sis has a beau you must slip, through the 

hall 
And not peep thro' tbe keyhole a mite ; 
'Uause last year Sis said Santa would brought me 
a gun, 
But I peeked thro' the keyhole one night. 
So these things that you'd like to do— just cut 'em 
out. 
It's tough on a fellow, I know, 
But after New Year's you can make it all up 
And folks will soon see you're not slow — 
But you've got to be good before Christmas. 




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IECKMAN L 
INDERY INC. p 

DEC 88 



N. MANCHESTER, 
INDIANA 46962 







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